


If I Can Love Again

by jaydick_love



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, F/M, Hurt, M/M, headcanon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4283514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydick_love/pseuds/jaydick_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both watched their family die before their eyes.  Their lives were crushed, leaving men with promises of revenge.<br/>The billionaire Thomas Wayne invites John Grayson after his family fell to their death out of mutual experiences. After staying in the Wayne Manor, John discovers some secrets. After all those dirty secrets are uncovered, both of their lives change in ways they could have never imagined…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If I Can Love Again

This wasn’t the way it was suppose to go. Not at all. It was supposed to be a nice night out; just him, Martha, and Bruce.

Not this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t have happened. Not to Gotham’s wealthiest family, not to the Wayne family.

It should have been someone else. Anyone else.

But it didn’t happen to someone else. It happened to him, it happened to Thomas, who thought he could protect his family. He thought he was doing it right, handing over his wallet, urging Martha to give the pearls.

If only he had done something else. If he had been quicker, had been braver, had been stronger. If he had just done something.

The man in the mask had aimed the gun at Martha, and Thomas was springing in front of his wife, and then there was nothing but blinding agony and shock in his chest, feet slipping, Martha’s skinny arms trying to hold him up, Bruce’s wide blue eyes. Another bang, and then Martha was the one who was falling, too, red splattering on her pretty dress, her cry a stab to Thomas’ heart as they both toppled onto the dirty pavement. Then a final bang, Bruce’s fearful wide blue eyes going wider as red painted the front of his chest, and then he, too, fell.

Thomas could save them. He was a doctor. He could keep them alive until help arrived; he could stop the bleeding, put pressure on the wounds. He tried to move, but goddamn his chest was on fire and he couldn’t feel anything other than the pain. His body was lead, and his eyes were slipping shut, unwilling to stay open. Christ no.

No, no, no, no!

He couldn’t even keep his eyes open; much less tend to his family’s wounds.

—

It took two and half long painful months of hospital treatments before Thomas was released. Gotham General had been filled with too much sorrow, too much pain. Thomas was one among many that were grieving, in pain, and angry. The “chirpy” nurses did not help one bit. Nor did it help when Thomas’ doctor suggested that he see a therapist for PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

When he first woke up, everyone had been reluctant to tell Thomas that he was the last living Wayne. The nurses and doctors kept beating around the subject. They didn’t tell him for nearly a whole month; they had wanted him to be stable physically first. When the doctor finally told him, Thomas wasn’t surprised. There was no way little Bruce could have survived. And well. Martha’s forehead had been blown through. But it shattered something more inside him when he heard the actual confirmation. That little droplet of hope hanging by a thread, it had completely dissolved. Because now, Thomas was alone. No Martha to tease him and give him quick kisses. No Bruce to spunk up his life.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt so… lonely. And lost.

He was a man without his family, so what was his purpose? No one to provide for, no son to show the world, no wife to tell how precious she was. All Thomas could do was mourn. Shed some tears, stare at photos of his family, and try to remember. To hold onto their memories. At first, that was all he did in the hospital. Lie around and mope. Trying not to forget their smiles and faces, holding their memories close to his heart.

Then, one day, on the news channel, he saw his family pop up on the screen. Intrigued, he listened to the reporter.

“-the young child Bruce Wayne and his mother, Martha Wayne, had been murdered in cold blood just a couple months back. Gotham PD has been out on the hunt for the killer, but has found no suspect yet. This is all the police will reveal at the moment. But if that’s all they know after months of investigation, will they ever find the Wayne’s murderer?”

Thomas blinked disbelievingly at the screen. The murderer hadn’t been found yet? How? He gave a description, it’s been months, the best detectives are on the case. How could they have not found the killer yet? How?! Where was the justice? Anger filled Thomas, erasing the moping he had been doing. He was furious that the GCPD hadn’t found the murderer, angry that the murderer had taken away his whole life, mad that he hadn’t been able to save his family. The anger changed his perspective, charged him with new energy and vigor that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

That day, Thomas realized what a man with a dead family’s purpose was.

Vengeance.

If the GCPD couldn’t find the killer, then Thomas would. He would hunt down the bastard that took his family away from him. Then he would make sure that no other criminals could ever hurt another family again. Not if he could help it.

The only question left was how to do just that.

 

 

—

It kept haunting Thomas. In his sleep, as soon as he closed his eyes, in between every blink, every breath, every thought. The dusty corners of Wayne Manor kept spewing all these memories that hurt so badly. The thing that kept haunting him the most was his son.

His round, young blue eyes. They were always so pretty. Pale, sky blue eyes, framed by thick lashes inherited from Martha. Seeing those priceless eyes widen with shock, fear, horror, and every terrible emotion that a child of just eight shouldn’t have ever had to see, much less experience. Thomas remembered how terrified Bruce had looked, how he was trying to stay strong underneath all that fear. Then those thick eyelashes sprinkled with tiny drops of red as the blue glazed and iced over, becoming unseeing, lifeless orbs that once held everything dear.

That was what Thomas couldn’t stop seeing.

The fear in Bruce’s eyes.

No child should ever have to die in such panic and terror. The only other time Thomas had seen Bruce that petrified was when he had accidentally fallen into an old well filled with bats on the Manor’s grounds. He had been playing outside and tripped into the well, fracturing his leg. Things had already been going horrible for Bruce, and things only got worse. The animal he feared the most filled that well. Bats shrieked as his fall disrupted their peace, wailing and flapping their webby wings around his son. He had screamed, and when Alfred and Thomas had finally found Bruce, he was desperately trying not to cry, but his eyes said everything. They had been as big as saucers with fear, tear-brimmed. Thomas had hurriedly gotten some rope and a levee to get Bruce out. He set the bone, wrapped it up, and had a cast put on it. Martha comforted Bruce, gave him some medicine, and the boy was practically fine.

Thomas wanted Bruce and Martha’s murder to feel the same fear. He wanted to see those man’s eyes widen in horror, he wanted that man to feel the same pain Bruce did. He wanted to hear him scream and beg for mercy. He wanted him to feel what Bruce felt. Thomas was going to make him suffer. It would be like throwing him down the well, exposing him to his worst nightmares, breaking his bones. Except there would be no tender touches and words, no person to set the bones, no medicine to erase the pain. The murderer would feel nothing but the pain, he would scream when his insides never stopped breaking; he wouldn’t feel anything but the agony and fear.

He would see and feel what Bruce was scared of the most.

Bats


	2. If I Can Love Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five long years have passed since the murder of Martha and Bruce Wayne. Much has happened to twenty-nine year old Thomas in order to extract revenge for his family. A night at a circus has his world tipping once more when a trapeze acrobat is found in Thomas’ shoes…

“Sir, you have a stab wound. I believe that calls for a night off.” Alfred said with a classic arch of his brow as the butler set out a plate of dinner in front of Thomas.

“It’s nothing.” Thomas replied, absently grabbing his fork and digging into his meal without even taking his eyes off the Batcave’s expansive screen. It seemed like he didn’t even know he had stabbed and swallowed two pieces of shrimp.

“Tsk. That was not the case last night when you returned from patrol, dripping blood onto my nice, clean floors.”

“Alfred-”

“There is a circus in town tonight. Amazing performers. I think you’d be very impressed. It’s six o’clock tonight.”

Thomas sighed and finally turned away from the glowing screens to face his most trusted friend. There was really no reason trying to argue with the butler. He was right, and the younger man would never admit it, but the stab wound was very achy today. “Alright.” Thomas agreed reluctantly. “But I’m not staying there the whole time. I still want to surveille Gotham from the Cave’s cameras.”

“Very well then, sir. That is agreeable. Finish dinner and maybe we’ll arrive on time.”

A nod in response before Thomas turned back to his food, this time actually looking at what a fine dinner Alfred had prepared. Now having appreciated the delectable smell, Thomas tore into the food, hungry from skipping lunch in favor of meetings at Wayne Enterprise. He finished the food in the Cave whilst staring at the screen before finally peeling himself away from the Cave and into his room to dress. Wayne didn’t go for the suits he usually wore, but just some jeans and polo. It was all very casual compared to his usual attire, but the brands Polo Ralph Lauren and Sak’s Fifth Avenue screamed money and rich.

Looking in the mirror, he slicked his hair back and slipped on his shoes. Maybe Alfred was right. Maybe tonight would be a nice night to have off. Thomas could actually try to enjoy himself.

 

Thomas and Alfred found seats in the center of the back row. Thankfully, no one recognized Thomas and attacked him with questions, demands on Wayne Enterprise, or if he was actually with the beautiful Miss America, Hazel Hinkleberry. The answers to all of those would have been “no.” He learned that “no” was the best answer, or either, “no comment,” ever since the media bombarded him about Bruce’s and Martha’s deaths. Yes, he had expressed he wanted the culprit dead, honestly, who wouldn’t? But when it came to personal matters, he had learned to grit out with annoyance, “no comment.” He didn’t like it when people barged into his privacy, nor had he liked it when a paparazzi had sneaked onto Manor grounds and took a photo of him drinking then having every magazine and celebrity TV show the picture and deem him an alcoholic from trauma.

That had been a bitch. Not entirely false, but one hell of a bitch.

“Popcorn, sir?” Alfred asked, offering the tub of buttered popcorn. Thomas took a few, popping them into his mouth as an elephant roared and pranced around the circle stage. Another man came out, fire breathing out of his nose and mouth. The cheering was so loud that Thomas was surprised he wasn’t deaf.

Next out, the Flying Graysons, the highlight of the show. A family of three: a mom, dad, and young boy, who were all trapeze acrobats. They performed with no net and featured the best and most daring moves.

The mother and son were on one end while the father on the other. They were smiling, huge, brilliant smiles, that looked so damn happy that it nearly knocked the wind out of Thomas’ lungs. That could be him. That could be his trio of a family, all laughing and happy and enjoying popcorn at a circus.

The father went first, swinging from his trapeze to the one across, doing multiple somersaults before catching himself with the back of his legs on the trapeze. The force had him swinging towards his wife, grabbing her forearms to swing her onto the other trapeze. The couple flipped and flew through the air, awing the crowd. Thomas was impressed by their agility and flexibility. Even the young boy was graceful and talented, whooping as he soared through the air. After a minute of swinging, everyone was wide eyed and unable to tear their eyes away from the amazing feats being performed. The father swung onto the podium, letting his son and wife take the spotlight. Just as he swung off, there was a horrible groaning, moaning sound that came from the poles that held them up. A sharp crack, then the acrobats weren’t flying anymore, but falling with the loosened pole. And Christ, there was no net, and they kept falling and falling and the husband was screaming their names. Everyone gasped and flinched as the young boy and mother fell onto the unforgiving, hard circle stage, red pooling around them both.

“No!” screamed the father. “No! NO!” He scrambled down from his tall post, working so quickly that Thomas was afraid he was going to fall to his death too. He didn’t, but stumbled towards his family, falling to his knees as water poured out his eyes. The acrobat’s hands hovered over the broken bodies, unsure of what to do.

Unsure because, within a split second, his world had been flipped upside down, and he was finding what it was like to be Thomas Wayne.


	3. If I Can Love Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night when John Grayson became the only Grayson alive and the night when Thomas found someone who understood him.

It was all a blur.

Thing was, it was a different kind of blur. John Grayson was use to seeing blurs. The blur of the circus performers and staff bustling around as they set up the tents and prepare for the show. The graceful blurs of his wife Mary, and his son Richard, swinging through the air. The physical motions had always been a blur to John, but he was always able to make sense of them. He was always able to see what happened even as things moved quickly. He knew what would happen.

But when the ropes snapped and the support beam groaned, everything had stopped being a blissful blur. Everything became crystal clear, sharp as a knife’s edge. That knife sank deep into his heart as he saw every miniature detail as his son and wife fell. Mary’s hands had been holding Richard’s forearms when they had been swinging, both of their eyes widening in shock. Then fear and horror. Then as they free falled, they lost their grips on each other, and Richard’s eyes were so wide, so panicked it tore a scream out of John. They had looked up at him, as if he could somehow save them. He wanted to, dear God, he had never wanted anything more than a safety net. There wasn’t one though. The Flying Graysons didn’t use pathetic, useless safety nets. Danger was their middle name, and now it was claiming two of them.

Now, he wished they had used precaution.

The crystal sharpness soon died when the crowd had left, when John was kneeling by his family. Just kneeling there, tears trickling down his cheeks even after they were covered and the police and EMTs wheeled their broken corpses away. The motions began to blur again, but one thing stayed sharp and clear. He was looking right at it, and it so painfully clear that he couldn’t find the will to move. To think beyond the crushing grief. All he knew was that Richard and Mary were gone. He was by himself. John did not do well alone.

Something didn’t make sense. Something important. John couldn’t remember though. Not through the grief, he couldn’t. It persisted at the back of his head, but his sad heart wouldn’t listen at the moment. He needed…. He just needed…

“John Grayson?” The voice was deep, smooth and rich. It was colored with the hints of understanding and grief also. But most of all, it was sorry. He supposed that was what he would be getting a lot of. Sorry.

Blearily, with bloodshot and tear filled eyes, John looked up at the owner of the voice. Things sharpened for a moment. Because damn, were his eyes betraying him? Was this really the billionaire Thomas Wayne looking at him? Hand extended? John had been speechless, but even if he did want to say something, he couldn’t have since his throat was all choked with tears. Wayne seemed to sense this and kept on talking.

“I’m Thomas Wayne. You may have heard of me?”

John jerked his head once, a shaky nod.

“Well then you know what happened to my family.” Something dark and sad flashed briefly in his eyes, which was quickly replaced by understanding and concern. “I’m sorry for your loss. But take it from someone who knows what you’re feeling. Please, call me if you need anything.” Thomas knelt down by John, and pressed a card into his hand, looking right into the watery eyes. “I mean anything. I realize how strange this is, but please. Don’t hesitate.” A firm, warm squeeze on John’s shoulder, then Thomas stood up reluctantly, unsure.

The last Flying Grayson barely had scrambled enough clarity to croak out, “Thank you.”

Wayne nodded, -and Jesus, when did the billionaire playboy ever look so grim? - and left, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he and his driver left the chaotic circus.

 

When Thomas had seen the two Flying Graysons fall, he hadn’t really known what to do. No one else did either. Not until the announcer stuttered out that the show was over, and politely and nervously asked everyone to exit. Everyone was all too willing to comply. Thomas found himself slinking in the shadows, waiting as others left, watching the police arrive and take the bodies. He would investigate more on these sudden and mysterious deaths tonight as his alter ego, but before he would go do that, he found himself walking towards the kneeling man. He remembered the man’s name from glancing inside the booklet that showed the cast. And then he was there, and he felt his own ancient emotions stir, but all of it was accompanied by something different and new. Understanding. He understood what John Grayson was feeling. Then he made an offer he would never make, and that wasn’t for anything. Thomas had meant it too. He had piles of money, and though he was emotionally stunted from survivor’s guilt, he offered this stranger a kindle of comfort, because of one, horrible, awful trauma they had and were experiencing.

Three hours later, he hadn’t expected it, but the Manor’s phones were ringing, an unknown number showing on the Caller ID. Alfred answered, then came to the study that Thomas was working in.

“A call from Mr. John Grayson for you, sir.” Alfred said. “Would you like to take the call?”

“Yes. Thank you, Alfred.” Thomas took the phone, and waited for Alfred to leave before pressing it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello. It’s John Grayson. From the Flying Grayson’s. Am I speaking to Thomas Wayne?” John’s voice was nervous, but underneath that was a sadness that only Thomas could have heard. He mentally corrected the grieving man. Not Grayson’s. It was just Grayson now.

“Ah, yes. What can I do for you, John?”

“Um.” A shuddery breath as John gathered his courage and shoved down his pride and tried to keep the sad trembling from his weary voice. “I really hate asking this. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all. What is it?”

“Is there any way that I can stay at your place?” It was all blurted out quickly, almost ashamedly. He quickly gave his reasons, “It’s just that- that- that- it’s too painful to stay at the circus.” A hitch of breath as John struggled to compose himself. “I just need to get away. The circus can’t be my home anymore, not without-” John cut himself off, biting off a sob and tears. “I’m sorry, I just- I just-”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand. When would you like to come?”

“As soon as possible, if that’s alright.”

“I’ll have a car waiting for you tomorrow morning at the circus.”

A large exhale. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“The Manor has too many rooms, it’s not a problem. Try to get some sleep, John.”

A wry, humorless laugh. “Right.”

“Good night.”

“Night.”

Thomas hung up, and sought out Alfred. “Could you have a bedroom prepared on the same floor as mine? Preferably a few rooms away from mine.”

“Certainly, sir. Is Mr. Grayson staying?”

“Yes.”

“I think some company will do you some good, sir.”

Thomas thought about the days that would come for John. They would be the same as his had been. Nothing but mourning, grief and sadness. Thomas’ own memories would resurface. He wasn’t sure if he’d like that. Because with those memories would be a longing that could never be fulfilled, which was to have his family back.

“Perhaps, Alfred.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Thomas stood up, heading for the Cave. He didn’t want to start dwelling on bad memories again. He would don his cape and cowl and use all those horrible memories for a better day.


	4. If I Can Love Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Grayson moves to the luxurious and mysterious Wayne Manor to get away from the haunting memories of his dead son and wife. This effects Thomas in ways he hadn’t thought it would…

When Thomas had said he would send a car, John had not expected a Bentley. The acrobat’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the sight of it. It’s shiny, waxed glamour looked out of place among dusty circus tents. It was too nice to belong in Haley’s Circus.

“Mr. Grayson?” A crisp British accent asked. The man screamed proper and polished with his graying hair pushed back and his clean shoes. He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than John’s monthly earnings.

“Yes. That’s me.” John replied, taking a few steps towards the man.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Mr. Wayne sent me to pick you up. I’ll take your bags to the car.” Alfred held his hand out for the suitcase and duffel bag, which made John flush.

“Oh, it’s okay. I can carry it. And call me John, please.”

“I insist. It’s my job.” John hesitated before reluctantly handing over his bag. He wasn’t use to this kind of treatment. To being treated like… Royalty or something of the likes of that. “This way, Mr. Grayson.” Alfred turned on his heel and lead John over to the limo, opening the door for him. Inside, it was all luxury and comfort. Plush leather seats that felt like clouds and the most leg space he’s ever gotten in a car. And was that a mini fridge in the center seat?

Alfred put John’s belongings in the trunk then got in the driver’s seat. When he began driving, the ride was so smooth and nice that John could hardly feel any bumps or potholes in the streets. Was this car actually a cloud or something? Or was Alfred’s driving so spectacular that it felt like a cloud?

It took about twenty minutes to make it to Wayne Manor. When John saw the house, his jaw dropped open. A huge, somewhat Gothic mansion gleamed in the pale sunlight. Manicured lawn, plush gardens, and artfully trimmed trees. It didn’t quite look like a billionaire’s home. He thought it’d be all modern contemporary stuff and just as plush as the seats in the Bentley he was sitting in. Alfred parked the Bentley in a garage that looked like it was connected to at least seven other garages. When he stepped out, he saw all the gloriously expensive cars sitting in the garage. Lamborghini, Ferrari, Tesla, Range Rover, Rolls Royce, Mercedes, BMWs… Every single car was worth more than John’s paycheck, and added up all together… Well, the figures made his head swim.

“Mr. Grayson, this way sir.” The man already had John’s bags in hand, French doors open for him to step into the mansion. Who in the hell had French doors to a garage? John looked sheepish as he stepped into the mansion. Once more, his breath was taken. The interior was jaw dropping with spotless marble floors, elegantly carved ceilings, furniture so nice John was afraid to sit down, even if he was offered to. There was the light sound of shoes tapping on the marble floor, then Thomas Wayne rounded the corner, dressed in a suit that looked so dashing that John nearly lost his breath again. A half smile spread across his face. The smile didn’t reach his eyes though. His pale blue eyes were kind of… Sad looking. John didn’t think it was strange, but at the same time he did. In magazines, he looked like one hell of a lady’s man, all charm and happy. Before he had married Martha, he had been even more of a playboy. Seems that since her death, he reverted back to his old self. But not quite, because of that sad look in his eyes.

“Hello, John.” Thomas said, arms opening wide. “Welcome.”

“Hi, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for letting stay.” John rushed. “I really appreciate it.”

“Psh, it’s no biggie. I have way too many rooms in here.” Thomas glanced at his Rolex, an apologetic look settling across his face. “Sorry I couldn’t stay longer. I have a meeting at Wayne Towers in a bit. My butler, Alfred will show you your room and around the Manor. Feel free to help yourself to anything. If you need anything, just ask Alfred.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks so much, Mr. Wayne.”

“Call me Tommy. That’s what everyone calls me. I’ll see you tonight.” With that, the billionaire swept out of the room. A few seconds later, he heard the roar of an exotic engine, then a bit of tire squeal.

“Would you like to see your room, sir?” Alfred asked.

“Ah, yes. Please.”

“This way.”

Alfred lead the way up a spiral staircase, past a few doors, then opened a door to a massive room. “This is your room. Is that alright, Mr. Grayson?”

“Yes, of course. Call me John. Please.”

“Maybe in time I’ll call you that. For now, it’s Mr. Grayson.” John thought that a bit odd, but whatever. “Would you like a tour of the place now?”

“That’d be nice.”

During the tour, John saw everything in the Manor. The kitchen that was bigger than a house, multiple living rooms and dens, more bedrooms, and all the things that would be in a massive mansion. There was tasteful and expensive art adorning many walls, but John didn’t see one framed photo until Alfred showed him Wayne’s study. There was a large photo of a lovely woman and a young boy hanging on the wall, which John assumed was the late Martha and Bruce. There was another photo of an older couple on a bookcase, who Thomas looked like. Must be his parents. There was a final framed photo of a young Bruce with a bright smile and even brighter blue eyes on the desk. John wondered why Thomas didn’t have more photos around the house, like by the fireplace. Though he found it odd, it wasn’t any of his business so he didn’t question it further.

Most of John’s day was spent alone in awe of the vastness of the Manor. He went outside and sat alone in the gardens, looking at the nature, imagining Dick running through them. Hell, Dick wouldn’t have ran through them. He would have back flipped and spiraled in the air through the gardens while Mary would just sit there and look at Dick with amusement. It had his heart aching and longing and not actually seeing that, just having to sit there and imagine it, it made his heart hollow and twist. Before he knew it, tears were pouring out of his eyes. That was his first breakdown for the day.

Alfred made lunch, which John just ate a bit of it even though it tasted like five star cuisine. To keep his mind off of them, John went to the gym. He had the whole thing to himself, and Alfred didn’t bother him unless he was called upon. So he did some running, weights, and acrobats. He showered in the extravagant guest bathroom and unpacked his things. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be returning to the circus anytime soon. Maybe not at all. It was just too painful. Every corner there had endless memories of Mary and Dick. What made it so painful was that they were just memories. Fragments of his human memory. Just some things in the past he remembered that would forever haunt his waking and sleeping moments.They would never happen again. He wouldn’t see Dick smile again, wouldn’t kiss Mary again. He may never even fall in love again. He wasn’t sure if he could.

Alfred made dinner too, and John ate it in the expansive kitchen at the breakfast bar while watching TV. Halfway through his meal, Thomas came back, looking disheveled and tired.

“Hello, Thomas.” John said politely. “How was your day?”

“Busy. Yours?” Thomas took a seat at the table besides John, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. The man popped a few buttons on the top, revealing a little bit of that impressive chest.

“Not bad.”

Thomas’ eyes turned softer with the next question he asked. “Holding up okay?”

John attempted to smile, but he couldn’t do it. “Hanging in there. I think you know how it is.” Thomas just nodded in understanding.

Alfred appeared then, piling on hot food onto a plate for Thomas. “I hope today was a good day at the office?” He asked in that crisp accent.

“Some of it was.” Thomas mumbled around a mouthful of food. He swallowed a few quick bites before asking John, “So, did you go and see any of the city today?”

“No. I don’t have a car for that. Didn’t need one being a part of a circus.”

“Nonsense. Alfred can take you anywhere in the city you want to go. You should go exploring tomorrow. Downtown is exquisite. I don’t recommend going too far beyond there though. Crime happens a lot more outside of downtown. I actually don’t have to be at the office tomorrow. We could go on a tour.”

“Oh. Thanks. That would be good.”

The rest of their meal was eaten while watching the TV. Thomas ate so quickly John thought the man might have choked. “Well, I have some things I need to do in my study. I’ll see you tomorrow, John. Get some rest.” John barely got out a “Thanks,” before Thomas swept out of the room.

The acrobat finished his meal then went back to his room, which also had a TV in it. He flipped it on. The news was playing.

“- Haley’s Circus tragic death of Mary and Richard Grayson has made an impact on the well known circus. The only one of the acrobatic act to survive was John Grayson. In related news, Thomas Wayne was spotted there talking to John Grayson. This has people buzzing about how the billionaire knows the performer. There have also been reports of John Grayson seen getting into Wayne’s car. He has-” John can’t listen anymore. He flicks off the TV and sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, sobs tearing out of his chest.

~

Thomas had lied about needing to do work in his study. He had other work to do. He just needed a cup of coffee for that. John was already gone when he came back to the kitchen. He brewed himself a large cup then headed for the Cave’s entrance, passing John’s room on the way. He paused, heart stuttering when he heard the crying. He knows exactly what it feels like to be in John’s shoes. He knows that comfort is needed. Thomas puts his hand on the door knob, thinking about going in to help the man through his grief. But something stopped him. Something inside him when he hears John sniffle and resume his sobbing. Perhaps John needed some time alone. They weren’t even close, they were practically strangers. How was he suppose to offer comfort to John? Thomas takes his hand off the doorknob and backs away. Before he can change his mind again, he walks down into the cave.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas tries to show John around Gotham, but Gotham is full of crazy villains. One villain ruins their day. That same night, Batman shows that he’s not afraid to cross any lines.

The next day, Thomas kept his promise of taking John out to see Gotham City. It wasn’t too terribly murky that day. The sun shone out at brief times, and there was no fog clouding everything in view. It was just a tad cold, but nothing that required a parka. All in all, it was a nice day in Gotham. A good day to take John out to explore the city.

The first stop the two men made to was a restaurant for lunch.

“What do you want to eat?” Thomas asked on the drive around the city, gazing over at him as he weaved through other cars in his Rolls Royce.

“Whatever’s good is fine with me. I’m not too picky.” John replied.

“Aw, c’mon. There’s gotta be a preference you like. Italian? Indian? American?”

“Um. I guess pizza?”

Thomas sighed playfully and looked at John, not even paying attention to the road. Which was frightening. It seemed like the billionaire could crash his car any moment but somehow managed not to. “Alright. Pizza it is. There’s a great local place called Pizza Studio. We’re going there.”

They ate at the Pizza Studio. To John’s surprise, it was the best supreme pizza he’d ever eaten. Just the right amount of toppings, baked with some really good dough, and tomato sauce and cheese that didn’t overpower it.

“So, what other attractions would you like to see?” Wayne asked once they finished eating and were back in the Rolls Royce.

“I hear that the Science Museum is good.” John suggested, a lump building in his throat as he remembered that Dick had wanted to go see the Science Museum.

“It is. I used to take my son, Bruce, there.” Thomas said it with a wistfulness that matched the way he was feeling. “It’s quite fun, even for adults. There’s some really mind boggling things.”

John wondered who this version of Thomas Wayne was. The one who wasn’t a girl grabbing CEO that got drunk every weekend. This wasn’t Thomas the tabloids liked to exploit. This part of Wayne was kind, generous, caring, and somewhat playful. John realized with a start that this must have been the man that Martha Wayne fell in love with and the father that Bruce probably looked up to. The mystery still remained though. If there was this version of Thomas, why did he end up looking like an obnoxious and arrogant business man to the public who cared about Gotham just enough to throw some cash? The man sitting by him certainly wasn’t that.

On the way there, they were at a red light. Just sitting there with the music playing softly through the expensive speakers when there was sudden crunching noise. It was a noise that sounded as if the car was being wrapped inside something strong and it sounded like it was just a few feet away from the pair.

“What the hell?” Thomas muttered, both of the men peering out the windows to see what was going on.

Cars began to be swooped up by overfed, strong, impossibly large and thick vines. The dozens of vines curled around the cars tightly enough that the metal frames groaned as they were lifted up into the air and in the center of it all was a captivating woman with fire red hair and intense green eyes with matching green skin. John had heard about this woman in the news, but he never quite believed that there was an angry mother nature incarnate until now. He was staring right at her as she hovered her hands in the air, commanding the vines like an orchestra.

“Poison Ivy.” Thomas sputtered, turning the wheel and hitting the gas pedal. He got two feet forward before the car gave another groan and then it was being lifted up into the air along with the other cars. Thomas was cursing like hell, while John peered out as they went up and up. He hadn’t been up that high since a couple nights ago when Martha and Dick fell. Since they died.

“You humans.” Poison Ivy roared. “Using cars that produce so much CO2 that global warming is killing the earth. You never care that you hurt Mother Earth. Nature gives life and you ignorant and arrogant beings take it for granted and dare to hurt mother nature.” There was another groan as the Rolls Royce began to cave, windows beginning to crack and the space lessening. The leather seats began to pop open, stuffing peeking out and the floor rippling and crumbling. Airbags would go off soon.

“Shit. We gotta get out of the car!” Thomas said.

“How? The doors aren’t going to work! They’re caving in.” John yelled.

Thomas looked around. “The windshield is big enough for us to get out of. It’s cracking. Maybe if we kick it, it’ll let us out.” Thomas began kicking at the cracking glass. John honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do so he began helping, using all his strength to kick. Within a few seconds, the windshield shattered and the two men could climb out. But they were up high in the air, a death fall. For the moment, they stayed in the shrinking cabin, wondering what the hell to do.

For a moment all John could see was what he imagined Mary and Richard saw and felt before they fell. Fear, shock, and worst of all, the hope that they wouldn’t fall. That they’d be saved somehow. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if John did fall though. Wouldn’t he join his family, wherever it was they were? Wouldn’t he be happy to be reunited? Yes, he would. But Mary would probably scowl at him and tell John that he should have fought for his life, that he shouldn’t waste it. Mary would be angry at him for giving up. For her, he would keep living and not accept the convenient death that looked all too sweet. He would live for Mary. That thought pushed him out of the crushed Rolls Royce, grabbing Wayne’s wrist and hauling him out too. They were not going to be crushed to death. They teetered on the hood of the car, wondering what to do and where to go.

“What are you doing?” Wayne yelled over the screams and grating metal.

“We gotta get down somehow or we’ll be crushed!” John said. He grabbed onto the vine circled around the Rolls Royce. “C’mon.”

“Not all of us are trapeze artists!” Thomas said.

“Just grab the vine! We can make it down.” John then wrapped his legs around the vine to cling on and peered up at Thomas. The car gave another loud groan, which urged Thomas to follow John’s lead and hold onto the vine for dear life. Then the two slowly began sliding down the shaft and were nearly halfway down when the vine gave a fierce shake. John gasped and his grasp on the vine slackened, his feet falling off. Another vicious shake and he couldn’t hang on anymore. Just as he thought he would fall to his death, a strong hand gripped his forearm.

“I’ve got you.” Thomas gritted out, his arm so tight around John’s forearm that there’d be bruises later. John panted, looking up at Thomas in awe. Jesus, he hadn’t noticed till now how obnoxiously well built the billionaire was. He had muscles on muscles. No wonder he was able to hold onto the vine despite all the shaking. Those bulky arms began to lift John up, face red with the strain. John wiggled up and grabbed the vine, circling his body around it more firmly.

“Thanks.” He said shakily. Thomas just replied with a nod and the two began working their way down again, clinging on for dear life when the vines tried to shake them off onto the pavement. By then, there were cops surrounding the area and aiming guns and something else that looked like a hose. A few seconds later, something foul smelling was being sprayed out of the hose towards the base of the vines. The plants began to brown and wither within a few seconds, the vines going wild again. The two nearly fell off, but within a few moments the crazy shaking halted and the vines began withering down to the ground. Once the vine touched down, Thomas and John immediately got off. The sound of cars slamming back to the pavement surrounded the area for a good minute before it was all shouting and the struggle of getting out of crushed cars. In the chaos, Poison Ivy managed to escape the police.

“You okay?” Thomas asked John, looking perfectly debauched in his rumpled and wrinkled Armani suit.

Somewhat breathlessly, John responded with a nod. “Yeah. You?”

“I’m good.”

The police kept them for a good while for statements and some questions. The Rolls Royce was completely gone, just a crumpled skeleton of what used to be a beautiful car, so Thomas had to call Alfred to come pick them up. Thomas didn’t weep over the Rolls Royce for very long. Maybe for just a moment as he looked wistfully at the destruction before shrugging and saying, “I’m glad we didn’t take my Ferrari today.”

When Alfred arrived, he asked in his composed, posh way if the two were alright.

“With some booze, I think we’ll be better.” Thomas had said and the two slid into the luxurious backseat. In the car, Thomas opened up a mini fridge, which was stocked with liquor and glasses. John didn’t know why he felt surprised. Of course the billionaire had a mini fridge in his car stocked with liquor. He poured some scotch in two glasses and handed one to Grayson. They both drank the liquor eagerly. It was much needed after the Poison Ivy incident.

“Sorry for not getting a proper tour of Gotham. We can go see the Science Museum some other day if you’d like to.”

“Don’t apologize. It is Gotham after all. Full of crazies.” John said, circling the glass in his hands.

“It’s not like that all the time, if that’s what you’re thinking. Something like that hasn’t happened since the Bat guy appeared a few years ago. Too bad he only operates at night. Coulda used him today.” Thomas shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’ll be a great story to tell later.” John paused, thinking back to the events. “You know, you did pretty well for someone who hasn’t done any acrobats. You even caught me before I fell. Not many people have such great reflexes.” Or such big, strong arms.

Thomas just shrugged. “Lucky, I guess. Or the adrenaline. Whichever it was, I’m glad it kicked in. Wouldn’t want you dead, John. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, and I wouldn’t want that to not happen.” It wasn’t any of those very possible excuses though. It was the Bat who saw and acted, and all those years of training. It wasn’t even the adrenaline, it was automatic. Like a routine to grasp John’s arm when he lost hold. Too many times had Thomas had to reach over a building and grab a falling hand. Sometimes, he let that person fall. But John was someone he felt like shouldn’t fall. His family had fallen to their death, no need for John to.

“Thanks again for that. I feel like… I owe you a lot now. A lot.” John murmured sincerely.

Wayne just shrugged again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just life, ya know?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

The men made it home without any other incidents, and John retired to his room for the day and did not appear for the rest of the day or night. Thomas did some paper work for Wayne Enterprises and sent them to the board for evaluation. As soon as it was nighttime, he disappeared into the Batman suit on the hunt for Poison Ivy.

She had three safe spots that Thomas knew of. He went and visited one of them which turned into a dead end. The second spot was where he found her. It was in the woods just beyond Gotham Park. She was resting and recovering from the dose of pesticide. Her green complexion had taken on a sickly brown tint and her hair was a sad washed out red color that was closer to light brown. Batman slowly approached the tree cocooning her, trying to keep his steps as silent as possible. It was a challenge with all the crunchy leaves and twigs. He wasn’t really surprised when he was caught.

“Batman.” She said without turning around. “You’ve come once more. What are you going to do this time? Spray me with weed killer? Kill my baby plants?” The branches around her began to twitch, coming to life and and moving about. They stood in a way that could only be described as protective and predatory, wooden looking daggers.

“Your little stunt today could have costed many lives.”

“Key words being could have. You can’t pin murder on me this time.”

“No. I can’t.” Batman pulled out a special gun that was filled with five syringes of lethally potent pesticide. A single dose of it could kill Ivy. He shot off one, which one of the branches merely swatted off to the side. The syringe slid into a different branch, which shriveled up and died almost instantly.

“Ah. Your good old pesticide I see.” Ivy finally faced Batman. “I may be a bit weaker than usual, but you won’t get me tonight.” The branches then whipped towards Batman, which he flipped out of the way and evaded until he couldn’t. A branch snagged around his ankle and began dragging him up towards Ivy. As he was brought up, more branches slithered around his body, restraining his movement and knocking his gun to the ground. The branches brought him up to Ivy’s level, spreading his arms and legs into a starfish position.

“Ah, Batman. Always trying to be the hero.” Ivy leaned forward from her perch, smiling wickedly. “Why not be the hero of mother nature? I’ll make you the hero.” She leaned forward, ready to seal his lips to hers to spread her mind controlling pollen on him, when he suddenly bowed his head. Ivy had no chance as the ears from the cowl shot from his head and burrowed into her chest. She screeched, falling back as red blossomed from her skin. The branches released Batman and shuddered backwards, apparently feeling their master’s pain too.

Batman dropped to the ground and grabbed his gun then grappled back up to the tree where Ivy was gasping, eyes wide in pain. He aimed the gun at her, a dark smirk gracing his face. “You won’t be able to hurt anyone else. And I don’t think your murder will be grieved over.” He pulled the trigger four times, burrowing the remaining syringes into Ivy’s chest. She gave another gasp, eyes wide. Within seconds, her green eyes glazed over into unseeing orbs, her skin turned crispy and brown, her red hair becoming lifeless and dull. Batman knelt down and felt for a pulse.

Poison Ivy was dead.


End file.
